This was the prayer that came to my spirit as I walked and prayed this morning.
If a celestial staircase opened before me Lord, I would climb it, step by step, all the way to heaven. If I could lay my burdens down, I would lay them all down now, at Your feet oh Lord.
If the noise of this world could be silenced forever, O what a glorious moment that would be. For nothing surpasses the peace of Your presence, The stillness, the holy rest of our God.
There is no clamoring when we draw near to You, Lord, Only rest, and peace, and stillness. You make me lie down in pastures green, You lead me beside the still waters of life.
Amid the tumult and noise of this age, Fix my mind on the eternal, unseen kingdom. Open my eyes to behold Your way, The kingdom that cannot be shaken.
Open the staircase of heaven before me, Lord, That I might climb into Your presence, Leaving the clamor and the noise behind, And dwelling forever in Your light.
History is filled with examples of national or collective consequence, when entire populations suffer the results of ideologies or movements they have supported. After World War II, the German people endured immense suffering. Over 600,000 children were killed. Cities were flattened. Women were raped by the invading Soviets. Hunger and displacement were widespread. While not every German was guilty of Nazism, Hitler and his regime had broad popular support. That support had consequences, natural, inevitable, and devastating.
This was not divine retribution, it was the harsh outcome of cause and effect. When a society builds its identity around hatred, violence, or conquest, it will eventually face the very storm it helped create. This same pattern is unfolding in Gaza. Hamas is not simply a fringe extremist group acting independently. Repeated polling over the years has shown that a strong majority of the Palestinian population, at times over 80 percent, has expressed support for Hamas and its methods. This includes the targeting of civilians and the use of human shields. The suffering that has followed, while tragic, is not inexplicable. It is the bitter fruit of seeds long sown.
That said, two wrongs do not make a right. But when someone has a 100 percent record of only criticizing one side, when outrage is selective and never balanced, that outrage loses moral authority. It becomes ideology rather than truth. And ideology, not principle, is the root of most of the world’s injustices. We must speak differently as followers of Jesus. Our voice must not echo the rage or loyalties of the world. When we become partisan, we compromise our witness. That is how crowds are stirred to cry out, “Give us Barabbas,” choosing political allegiance over righteousness.
The law of sowing and reaping is real and impartial. Everyone is accountable. But in any violent conflict, especially one where survival is at stake, the party that initiates the aggression bears the greater weight of responsibility. The suffering of civilians is always a tragedy, but it does not occur in a moral vacuum. When a people support a movement that glorifies destruction, they must also face the consequences that naturally follow. That does not mean every individual is guilty, but it does mean that actions have repercussions, and movements supported by the many will inevitably shape the fate of the whole.
Yet as Christians, our place is not to take sides in the quarrels of men. Our loyalty is not to any earthly cause but to the Kingdom of God. When Joshua encountered the angel of the Lord and asked, “Are You for us or for our adversaries?” the angel replied, “No, but as Commander of the army of the Lord I have now come” (Joshua 5:13–14, NKJV). This response reveals the true nature of heavenly alignment. It is not about whose side God is on, but whether we are on His.
We are not called to be partisan in the affairs of man. We are ambassadors from another Kingdom, the Kingdom of God. Our response is not to mirror the anger of the world but to weep over its hatred, to mourn the vengeance that devours the children of men, and to speak with clarity, compassion, and conviction from a place that transcends politics, borders, and ideologies.
At the turn of the 20th century, we witnessed the birth of two monumental Pentecostal movements. First, in 1904, came the Welsh Revival in Britain, and then, in 1906, the fires of revival swept through Azusa Street in Los Angeles. These were no ordinary stirrings, they were powerful outpourings of the Holy Spirit that would give rise to entire movements, such as the Elim Pentecostal Church in Britain and the Assemblies of God, which would spread globally and impact hundreds of millions.
From these humble beginnings, in every corner of the land, small Pentecostal churches began to emerge. Their message was simple: salvation through Jesus Christ, the power of the Holy Spirit, and the restoration of spiritual gifts. These fellowships sprang up in the shadow of massive denominational institutions, the Church of England, the Church of Scotland, and others, hige edifices steeped in their own traditions. Yet right beside them, in modest, unassuming buildings, were these Spirit-filled gatherings where lives were being radically transformed, adults were getting saved, and the gifts of the Spirit were active and alive.
This was a profound blow to the kingdom of darkness. The enemy, seeing the explosive growth of this movement, would not sit idly by. His question became clear: How can we bring this down? And so, beginning in the 1940s, we saw the emergence of new “theological,” trends, the Word of Faith movement, the Prosperity Gospel, and of course the Charismatic movement in the 60s, which would swallow up the others and become indistinguishable.
It was a cunning strategy: If you can’t beat them, buy them. The philosophy was simple, promise the very things that human beings everywhere fear to lose: health and wealth. Whether you’re in New York City or a remote village in the jungle, the universal concerns remain the same, our bodies and our bank accounts. The enemy offered a counterfeit gospel, one that shifted the focus from the cross of Christ to the desires of the flesh.
The Charismatic Movement became a Trojan horse. It infiltrated Pentecostal churches across the globe, not with persecution, but with promises. And it worked, brilliantly, tragically. The smoke from the fire of true revival has been replaced by the smoke machines of performance and entertainment. The altars were replaced by stages, the message by motivational speaking, and the Spirit by self-help and “self,” seeking
What followed was the tearing down of the very pillars upon which the early Pentecostal movement had stood. The purity of the Gospel was traded for a gospel of gain. Faith, once the precious link to Christ Himself, was twisted into a tool to manipulate blessings. Prosperity or tge lack of it, once counted as rubbish in comparison to knowing Christ, became the goal.Christ had become but a means to a materialistic end.
It was a disaster for the Church, and a stunning success for the enemy. The people rose up and played, just as they did before the golden calf in the wilderness. Think of “holy laughter,” and roaring like animals. And today, we stand in the shadow of that fall, in the ruins of what once was a mighty move of God.
These false ideologies, health and wealth, Name It and Claim It, the separation of faith from Christ Himself, have infected almost every corner of the modern Pentecostal and non-denominational world. Rare is the church untouched. Subtle or blatant, this taint remains, and it must be recognized for what it is.
Now, in this late hour, a remnant is rising, a people who are returning to the simplicity and the power of the cross, who walk not in the counsel of the world but in the fear of the Lord. Let us not be seduced by the glitter of gain or the lure of comfort. Let us remember the foundation laid in tears and prayer and holy fire. It is time to leave the circus behind, with all its many forms of entertainment, and “come out from among her.”
In the fierce heart of every storm, there lies a sacred stillness , a place untouched by the chaos that rages all around. That stillness is Christ. He is not on the edge, not watching from afar , He is at the very center, the calm within the tempest, the anchor of our souls.
When we run to Him, we do not escape reality , we enter into a deeper one. We step into perfect peace, not because the storm ceases, but because the Prince of Peace reigns within it. But if we flee, if we try to outrun the storm in our own strength, we hurl ourselves into its fiercest winds. The resistance grows, the fear swells, and we are battered by every gust.
Brothers and sisters, run to the center. Run to Jesus. For in Him, the storm loses its power, and the winds fall silent in the shadow of His presence. He prepares a table for us in the heart of every storm. He causes us to lie down in green pastures , beside still waters. He anoints us with oil and restores us. This goodness and mercy shall follow us all the days of our lives.
The Pentecostal and Charismatic world has been shaped by movements such as “name it and claim it” and the so-called “word of faith” message. Add to that the prosperity gospel, and what remains is a witches brew, a kind of spiritual confusion brewed in our own theological cauldron. These movements have often shifted the focus of faith from trusting in God to demanding from God, turning faith into a formula for material gain rather than a pathway to spiritual depth. What was once a holy dependence on the sovereignty of God has, in many circles, become a technique for manipulating outcomes.
Yet Scripture offers a deeper, more sobering view. Depending on the translation, the word “faith,” appears around 270 times in the Bible. The vast majority of these references are not about miracles or breakthrough, but about trust, trust in God’s character, His promises, and His sovereign will.
Hebrews 11:6 says, “But without faith it is impossible to please Him, for he who comes to God must believe that He is, and that He is a rewarder of those who diligently seek Him.”
The kind of faith that pleases God is not transactional, but relational. It is the quiet, unwavering confidence in who God is, even when heaven is silent and the way is dark.
Romans 8:8 reinforces this truth: “So then, those who are in the flesh cannot please God.” Faith and flesh are incompatible. One walks by sight, the other by belief. To walk in the flesh is, functionally, to walk without faith.
Romans 8:5 explains, “For those who live according to the flesh set their minds on the things of the flesh.” The word mind here, phroneó, speaks of setting one’s affections, fixing one’s thoughts and desires. To “mind” the things of the flesh is to be consumed with the visible, temporal world. The Greek word for flesh, sarx, in this context means “the symbol of what is external.”
What does that look like in practical terms? It means being consumed with our careers, our possessions, our reputations, our politics, our social standing, our image, gaining our miracles, our health, rather than being absorbed in the things of God. A mind dominated by these mostly earthly concerns is incompatible with the Spirit-led life. Such a person is not walking in the Spirit, and therefore cannot please God. Being obsessed with miracles often flows, not from the heart of God, rather , it flows from the depths of our flesh.
“For to be carnally minded is death, but to be spiritually minded is life and peace.” (Romans 8:6)
The spiritual mind is one that seeks first the Kingdom of God and His righteousness (Matthew 6:33). It is a life oriented toward the eternal, not the temporary.
Hebrews 11, that great chapter of faith, gives us a dual picture. We rejoice in the stories of deliverance:
“By faith the walls of Jericho fell” (v.30), “Through faith they subdued kingdoms, worked righteousness, obtained promises, stopped the mouths of lions” (v.33). These are victories worth celebrating.
Yet the chapter shifts abruptly. “Others were tortured, not accepting deliverance, that they might obtain a better resurrection. Still others had trial of mockings and scourgings, yes, and of chains and imprisonment. They were stoned, they were sawn in two… being destitute, afflicted, tormented, of whom the world was not worthy.” (vv.35–38)
The common thread?
“And all these, having obtained a good testimony through faith, did not receive the promise.” (v.39)
Their faith was not measured by immediate reward, but by enduring trust in the unseen. Job expressed it best:
“Though He slay me, yet will I trust Him.” (Job 13:15)
Habakkuk echoes the same heart: “Though the fig tree may not blossom… yet I will rejoice in the Lord.” (Habakkuk 3:17–18)
This kind of faith is not swayed by trials or silence. It is rooted in relationship, not reward. Psalm 23 reminds us that God does not remove the enemies, but prepares a table in their midst.
“You anoint my head with oil, my cup runs over.” (Psalm 23:5) The oil flows not in times of ease, but in times of pressure. The true reward of faith is not what we receive, but who we receive—His presence.
“In Your presence is fullness of joy.” (Psalm 16:11)
The last 2,000 years of Church history bear witness to this truth. Millions have suffered for Christ, not because their faith failed, but because their faith endured. They possessed a spiritual mind and a heart anchored in another world. Their lives pleased God. Their testimonies still speak.
So the question is this: will you walk in the Spirit today? Will you cast aside the fleeting things of this world and set your affections on things above (Colossians 3:2)? Will you walk by faith and not by sight (2 Corinthians 5:7)? Will you trust God even when there is no sign of deliverance?
This is the faith that pleases God. And without it, we cannot.
The apostolic revelation given to Paul, as recorded in Colossians 1:26, presents one of the most profound disclosures in redemptive history—a mystery once concealed from ages and generations, now gloriously revealed to the saints. This mystery, long hidden in the counsels of God, was not perceived by the prophets nor comprehended by the wise of this world. It is the astounding truth that in Christ Jesus, Jew and Gentile are no longer divided, but made one—a new humanity, a single body in the Messiah. This is the long-anticipated fulfillment of the promise to Abraham, that in his seed all the nations of the earth would be blessed. No merely ethnic boundary remains, for in Christ there is neither Jew nor Greek. This is a revelation of cosmic consequence and divine ingenuity, wholly unforeseen in its breadth and intimacy.
Yet, astonishingly, the mystery deepens. As Paul continues in Colossians 2:2–3, he reveals that the purpose of this unity is not an end in itself, but a divine conduit by which the saints are brought into the very heart of God. He prays that their hearts might be encouraged, being knit together in love, and that they may attain to all the riches of the full assurance of understanding—to the knowledge of the mystery of God, both of the Father and of Christ.
Herein lies the surpassing dimension of the mystery: not merely reconciliation between former enemies, but an invitation into divine communion. In Christ are hidden all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge. Through union with Him, the veil is lifted and the Father—once unknowable and inscrutable—is made known. The mystery begins with the joining of the divided, but it climaxes in the revelation of the Divine. It is not only that Jew and Gentile are made one in Christ, but that in being made one, they are ushered into the very life of God.
This is the formation of the true Israel of God—a people sanctified, a royal priesthood, whose minds are being renewed and whose hearts are being enlarged by the Spirit. The saints are not left with mere doctrine, but are drawn into the riches of divine intimacy, discovering the boundless wisdom and knowledge hidden in Christ. This is the full arc of the mystery: reconciliation leading to revelation, unity giving way to glory, and the Church—Christ’s body—growing in grace as it beholds the face of God in the person of Jesus Christ.
One of the most tragic realities of the contemporary church, most glaringly within the American context, yet by no means confined to it, is the widespread absence of the new birth among professing Christians. This foundational deficiency renders it utterly impossible for such individuals to love as the early church loved, for the very source and sustainer of that love is Christ Himself. It is He who binds believers together in divine unity.
The church, properly understood, is not a building, a denomination, or an institution, it is the living body of Christ. And unless one has been joined to that body through regeneration, one simply does not belong to the Church in the true, biblical sense, the ekklesia, the “called-out ones.”
It is spiritual folly to expect those outside of Christ, unregenerate and untouched by the Spirit of God, to manifest the supernatural love that defined the earliest believers. This love flows not from religious duty or communal sentiment, but from the indwelling presence of the Holy Spirit.
Oswald Chambers, in his meditations on the Sermon on the Mount, rightly observed that any attempt to live out Christ’s teachings apart from the new birth results in a miserable experience. For the unregenerate, the Sermon is not a light but a crushing burden, a lofty ideal that exposes the impossibility of genuine righteousness without divine transformation.
Religion, absent the life of Christ, becomes little more than a philosophy, a system of ethics, or a cultural form. It may produce momentary acts of kindness, but it cannot sustain the sacrificial, Spirit-wrought love of the saints. This love, that bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things, does not arise from human effort but from the supernatural work of God in the soul.
Thus, what many interpret as disunity in the church is, in truth, the presence of multitudes who are members of religious organizations, but not members of Christ’s body. They are, at best, moralists striving in their own strength, at worst, deceived souls clinging to the form of godliness while denying its power.
The Scriptures are not silent on this. “Many are called, but few are chosen” (Matthew 22:14). The remnant, the few, are the truly born again, those who love with a love not their own, who recognize one another not by label or denomination, but by the Spirit of Christ within. When these encounter one another, there is immediate fellowship, unfeigned and deeply rooted in shared life.
To expect widespread spiritual unity in a landscape dominated by nominalism is to set oneself up for continual disillusionment. Indeed, the gap between our expectations and the reality of the religious world around us is often the precise measure of our grief.
But if we understand this reality, that true unity and true love exist only among the regenerate few, we will cease to be disheartened by the failures of the masses and instead rejoice to find, here and there, a brother or sister truly alive in Christ. For these are the Church. These are the Body. These are the beloved of God.
Some poor deluded folks think that by attending a church they are being disciples. Very sad. I’ve known disciples who attend a church, I’ve known disciples who gather together in small groups, I’ve even known disciples who meet just “where two or three are gathered,” but I’ve known very few disciples. They are the few. They are the remnant. Just as the Lord said it would be. The vast majority I’ve known are church goers, which is a world apart from disciples……bro Frank.
Charles Simeon 1759-1836 wrote…………
Isaiah 29:13, “The Lord says: These people come near to Me with their mouth and honor Me with their lips, but their hearts are far from Me!”
In our church services, we go through all the external bodily motions; but as to the prostration of the soul, we are for the most part oblivious and unconcerned. We think that we have done our duty to God, if we have gone through the appointed external rituals, though our heart has not accorded with the body in any part of the service. In truth, our services have been hypocritical throughout.
Had a stranger come into one of our church services, and overheard our glowing praises, and our solemn confessions, petitions, and thanksgivings–he would have supposed that we were the most humble, spiritual, and devout people in the universe!
But had he been privy to the real state of our hearts–then how little would he have seen: of earnest ardor in our praises, or of honest humiliation in our confessions, or of sincere fervor in our petitions, or of genuine gratitude in our thanksgivings!
He would see that the state of our hearts indicated that we felt nothing, and meant nothing–at the very time that we professed to mean so much and feel so much!
For the most part, he would have seen that the whole of our service was only a solemn mockery; that instead of being genuine worshipers of our majestic and holy God–for the most part, we were but insincere hypocrites!
Let me ask, in the name of God Himself: What reason you can have to think that God would accept such services as these?
If, indeed, God were like ourselves, and could see only the outward appearance, then we might hope that, being deceived by us–He would be pleased with us.
But when we bear in mind, that the omniscient God knows . . . our every secret thought, our every secret desire, our every secret motive, and that He perfectly searches our heart, and knows our thoughts–then we must be sure that our very services are an abomination in His sight!
“Isaiah was right when he prophesied about you hypocrites; as it is written: These people honor me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me! They worship Me in vain.” Mark 7:6, 7
J.C. Ryle: In all our Christian duties, whether giving or praying, the great thing to be kept in mind, is that we have a heart-searching and all-knowing God! Everything like mere formal worship, is abominable and worthless in God’s sight. The one thing which His all-seeing eye looks at, is the nature of our motives, and the state of our hearts!
“Serve Him with a whole heart and a willing mind; for the Lord searches all hearts, and understands every intent of the thoughts!” 1 Chronicles 28:9
One of my favorite lines from a President was from FDR in 1933 in the middle of the greatest depression the modern world had ever seen. The whole world was in a terrible depression, lives ruined, people faced a bleak future with no real hope on the horizon. He stood up and said “the only thing we have to fear is fear itself.” The press of today would have torn into FDR and mocked him for not being afraid. Their focus would have been on the numbers. Daily they would remind people of how bad it was and would ignore any good news. They would accuse him of having no empathy and would be screaming “we’re all going to die man.” It would have been the typical talk of cowards down through the ages.
Just one week after Dunkirk, when the British backs were to the wall. When the might of the British army had to run for their lives from the Germans and all of Europe lay under the gross darkness of the Nazis, Churchill stands up in the British Parliament and spoke these words……………
We shall fight in France, we shall fight on the seas and oceans, we shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in the air, we shall defend our Island, whatever the cost may be, we shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender.
He did not focus on what his enemy was doing, he focused on what the British people were going to do despite their enemy. This is what leaders do, they lead. They do not lead from behind, they lead from from the front. They do not lay down and die, crying in some huddle, they stand up and fight and if they die in the process of that fight then so be it. Never in the history of the world was the battle cry ” we’re all gonna die man.” That is the whimpering cry of the cowards.
Christian, our Lord has said to us that He did not give us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and a sound mind. A sound mind is a disciplined mind. Self control in the face of dire circumstances. That is power, the power of God. Only when walking in that kind of power can we truly love. When others all around us are losing their minds then our own sound minds will stand our like a city set upon a hill. Can people see that power in you? Do not run with the cowards or with the faint of heart.
God says to Job in chapter 40 “Stand up like a man and brace yourself for battle.” The Lord was not talking in a still small voice, this came out of the whirlwind. Brothers and sisters, we are in the midst of a whirlwind. Stand up like a man and brace yourself for battle. Deck thyself now with majesty and excellency; and array thyself with glory and beauty. Who can stand against God? Who can make himself a thing of beauty? The truly strong man is the man who humbles himself before the Living God. The man who who understands his true nature understand that the only beauty that exists is the beauty and the glory of God.
The power that we have, the only power that we have is the power that we have been given by the Spirit of God. When we move in that power, when we move in that love then fear is cast out and we are free to live our lives boldly no matter what set of circumstances that we face. It is time to be bold saints. If you are afraid today, get it right. If certain brave men in the flesh can do mighty things, then what can we do, we who love Jesus? We can do all things through Christ who strengthens us.
A Call To The Remnant 